


Torture

by Redrose1024



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gore, M/M, PTSD, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, Trauma, Triggers, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrose1024/pseuds/Redrose1024
Summary: Jazz has been a neutral, desperately avoiding the war at all costs. But soon, he is captured by a ruthless band of Decepticons who leave more than a scar on him.When he is taken in by a ship of Autobots, he has to learn to trust and love once more.





	1. Saved

He was trembling. 

The nagging feeling of regret was still in his processor. He shouldn’t have pretended to be an Autobot. He should’ve begged them to let him go. He should’ve told them the truth and said he was a neutral. 

There was a lesson to be learned here. Honesty is the best policy? No. Lying had saved his life far too many times. Never trust anyone? That’s more like it. 

His wrists were chained together. The ‘interrogator’ (torturer would be more accurate) had thrown him back into his cell. Fresh wounds were oozing energon, causing a dripping sound to echo off the blank walls.

The Decepticons had demanded that he handed over the data they desired. The mech tried to assure them that he didn’t know anything. He begged and pleaded to let him go, saying that he was an innocent neutral. At one point, he debated whether or not to give them fake information. He decided against it, knowing that a lie was what got him into this mess.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t give them any information. His vocalizer was damaged from all the screaming he’d done. Now all that came out was static. 

To top it off, his visor was badly cracked, vision rendered completely useless. Every now and again, it’d online, giving him a brief glimpse at the world. But soon after the brief glimpse, it would spark and offline. 

He was left with nothing more than touch and sound at this point. It was belittling. Here he was, a proud neutral, practically a master at avoiding the war. And now? He was in Decepticon captivity, being tortured because of his stupidity. 

There was a whining of hinges a few feet in front of him. The mech in captivity knew that sound all too well. He’d heard it every few joors for cycles on end. That sound was always the beginning to his pain. 

First, it was the squeaky hinges. Then, it was the rough servos grabbing him and forcing him to stand. Not too long after that, it was the thick metal that clamped down on his wrists and pedes to hold him down in the chair. 

He whimpered and recoiled in on himself. His torturer only advanced. He could hear him get closer and closer. The pedes got louder as he approached, agonizingly slow. 

The small mech curled in on himself and refused to move. The rough servos grabbed his arms and forced them apart. He whined and tried to squirm away, only to get closer to the wall. 

The interrogator forced him to stand. The mech’s legs gave out from underneath him. Apparently the fatigue and numerous injuries were starting to get to him. Nonetheless, the interrogator dragged him from the cell and forced him down the hallway. 

His panicked whimpers only grew as they advanced. He knew where they were going. His torturer would sit him in a chair and strap him down. There would be shuffling heard. Sometimes he’d be asked questions. When he didn’t answer, there would be pain inflicted. Other times, the pain started immediately. During those sessions, it was usually pin pricks followed by burning. Whoever his torturer was, enjoyed drugging him. 

He was strapped into the chair by the thick metal restraints. His vents became short and ragged as he heard the shuffling. He gritted his denta and waited for the pain to come.

But it never did.

Instead he heard a muffled voice. If he wasn’t trembling in fear, he probably would’ve tried to listen. But these cycles, he found it hard to concentrate on much of anything.

Pede steps were heard, the opening and closing of a door, then nothing. 

The small mech was left to sit, strapped to a chair by his wrists and ankles. Perhaps this was a method of torture, to make him a victim of the suspense and his own mind. 

He waited and waited, but nothing ever happened. 

This had never been done before. The interrogator was always so quick and swift. He almost began to miss the older method of interrogation. 

An audio splitting crash brought him out of the peaceful state he was in. Fearing for the worst, he began to fight against the restraints, whimpers and whines growing louder. 

This time, the crashing was even closer to the interrogation room. The captive could feel the vibrations against the bottoms of his pedes. The sensation made him flinch and try to pick his pedes up.

The room felt like it was spinning when he finally heard the door open again. Only this time, it wasn’t slow and calm. This time, it was accompanied by a loud bang and a cacophony of voices. 

That’s when he lost it. 

Fearing for his life, he started fighting the restraints. His whines quickly turned to sobs and grunts. The voices he once heard were now nearing closer. A warm servo touched him. He yanked his frame back, only to have another one touch him.

“We won’t hurt you.” a deep voice assured. 

He leaned back into the chair and gripped the arms of the chair. Loud gasps escaped his glossa as his helm whirled around, as if he was looking for something.

“It’s okay,” the voice began again. “We’re Autobots.”

Autobots?

He swallowed hard. It took two halves to start a war. The way he saw it, they were just as responsible as the Decepticons. 

He jerked away from the servos he felt and shook his helm. He tried to speak, but only heard static.

“I won’t hurt you.” the same voice said.

“Prowl, we need to go!” he heard another voice say in the distance. 

He felt a firm servo grip his chin and hold it steady. “I need you to listen.” the deep voice was suddenly grim. “If you ever want to have a chance at leaving this place, I need you to trust me.”

The small mech tried to reboot his visor in a desperate attempt to get a glimpse at his ‘savior’. To his delight, it worked. 

For a split second, he was met with the sight of a black and white praxian mech. His face plates were narrow and defined. His armor was well polished, including the tall red chevron sitting on top of his helm. He wore a hardened expression, almost scary if he was being honest.

As his visor went dim again, he nodded vigorously to the mech. He could feel strong servos wedge themselves underneath the restraints and snap them off. For a moment he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t felt this free in awhile.

He tried to hoist himself up but found that his limbs were incapable of supporting his weight. Before he fell to the ground, the mech caught him from below. He held him into a standing position before sweeping his arm under his legs and carrying him. 

“Are you alright?” the mech asked. 

The other mech nodded vigorously and wrapped his arms around what he assumed was his rescuer’s shoulders.

As they advanced, he could hear the loud crashes get harsher. The small mech buried his helm further into the bigger one’s shoulder. It was as if he was trying to hide from the outside. Yet, the outside is where he wanted to go. Going to the outside meant that he could leave this Pit.

He heard foreign voices yelling and screaming. There were loud explosions, making the walls around them vibrate. He had to shuffle closer to the mech who was carrying him in an attempt to make himself feel safer. 

He could hear his savior’s pede steps change in pitch. It sounded like he was walking on hollow metal now. The pede steps came to a halt and it now sounded like he was walking on solid ground. 

There was slight jostling as he was set down on a smooth surface. The small mech hugged his knees to his chassis and scooted back, wishing his visor worked. 

“Ratchet!” the deep baritone voice called off in the distance. 

He heard the angered muttering of a new voice. It startled him and made him press against the wall. 

“This is the one you found?” the new voice asked. 

There was a brief moment of silence. “He is.”

“Have you ran a background check yet?” 

“No.” 

He heard something scrape across the floor. Suddenly he sensed a presence in front of him. 

“I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” the deep familiar tone said. 

“Don’t bother.” the newer gruff voice scoffed. “His vocalizer is damaged, all you’ll get is static.”

There was a sigh and a few beeps from what he presumed was machinery. He heard a shuffling of pedes and a few hushed whispers. Not being able to hear their conversation made Jazz nervous. Even when he was in captivity, he could hear their conversations. 

A servo was pressed to his shoulder, making him flinch away. He felt another servo grab him, his panic only heightened. Next came the sharp sting on the side of his neck. 

That sensation was so familiar. Only this time, he wasn’t strapped to a chair. 

He scrambled off the table, only to find that his limbs were even more uncooperative than before. His legs buckled underneath him and he crumpled to the floor. When he hit, he found himself unable to move. His systems began to fade. Then, nothing.


	2. Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it, I dunno...

The blue visor flickered to life. A soft groan escaped his lip plates. This time, it wasn’t laced with static. It was strong and clear, a representation of how his voice actually sounded. 

He heard hushed voices chatting in the background. There was a faint beeping to his left and other small noises all around him.  
But above all, he could see. 

What used to be all black was now shapes and color. He saw a gray metal roof above him, with pipes and light fixtures bolted to it. When he moved around, he saw his black servos flexing and unflexing their digits.

“Good, you’re online.” a voice said. 

Looking to his right, he saw a red and white mech approaching him. He stopped next to a monitor and began typing. 

“I’d like to run a background check on you if you don’t mind.” the medic said. 

He nodded. 

“Name?”

He cleared his vocalizer and opened his glossa. “Jazz.”

“Jazz,” he repeated slowly. The medic typed something in and waited for an answer. “Neutral, is that correct?”

Jazz nodded. 

“In that case, I’d like to treat the rest of your wounds and direct you to our Interrogation and Psychology Operations Officer for further questions.” he removed himself from the monitor and started to pull things out of the cabinet. 

Jazz took the opportunity to look around the room. He was placed in a small side room with a medical berth and machinery. The amount of things he was hooked up to was concerning to say the least. But as he studied the room more, he began to feel uneasy. The door was closed. Why was it closed? What needed to be hidden? Everything was too open, he felt vulnerable. 

The medic must’ve picked up on his uneasiness, because he was at Jazz’ side in an instant. 

“Your vitals are rising.” he said looking at the monitor. “You need to calm down.”

Jazz realized that he was now huddled in the corner, clutching his chassis and venting heavily. His vision began to fade around the edges. 

His thoughts drifted to the baritone-voiced mech who saved him. He was so kind and gentle. Jazz wanted to see who he was, and not just the short glimpse he got from before. 

“Th-the mech who saved me,” Jazz panted. “Where is he?”

The medic looked taken aback. He blinked once and swung his helm to the side. 

“You want,” he raised his optic ridges. “Prowl?”

Jazz nodded. He’d heard that name while in captivity, he just never put two and two together. 

The medic shook his helm. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Jazz sat back on the berth and watched the medic leave. While he waited, he laid a servo to his spark and tried to calm down. 

Not too long after he left, the medic returned with another mech in tow, Prowl. This mech was smaller than him, yet larger than Jazz. 

He studied Prowl’s face. Instead of the comforting expression he saw last time, this time he wore an impassive one. His lip plates were pressed into a fine line instead of the smile he saw before. His optics were now even narrower and dimmer. Jazz originally thought that this mech would be able to help him, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“My presence was requested,” Prowl said, more to Jazz than anyone else. 

The voice is the same, Jazz noted internally.

“Yes,” the medic agreed. “You are the one who retrieved Jazz, aren't you?”

Prowl’s proud doorwings flicked. “Jazz,” he repeated the name and turned his fell attention to the small mech cowering on the berth. “You’re doing better, I presume?”

Jazz took this chance to internally examine himself. He did feel better. Sluggish and tired, but better. 

He nodded. 

Prowl shifted his helm to face the medic. “Ratchet,” he began.

The medic’s name is Ratchet, Jazz thought internally. 

“Have you run the background check?” 

“I have.” Ratchet said. “He’s a Neutral.”

Prowl nodded slowly and then looked back to Jazz. His optics focused on the trembling mech. Jazz suddenly felt intimidated by him. 

“Jazz do you know where you were?” he asked suddenly and seriously. 

Jazz’s visor brightened. Ratchet shot Prowl a disgusted look for distressing his patient. Prowl, however, remained calm and still, awaiting his answer. 

“Th-the Decepticons.” he stuttered.

“Very good.” Prowl praised flatly. “Do you know which Decepticon facility?”

“No.”

Prowl was silent for a moment. He glanced at Ratchet who was concentrated on the monitors. Seeing that he wasn’t disturbing Jazz too much, Prowl continued. 

“Do you know where you are now?”

Jazz gave it a moment's thought. “The Autobots.”

“Good.”

Prowl turned to Ratchet and shared a word. Jazz didn’t listen. His optics were trained on Prowl’s servo holding the door knob.  
Jazz didn’t want him to leave. He knew that Prowl wouldn’t hurt him, as scary as he may be. 

“I’ll call for Smokescreen.” he heard Prowl say. 

Almost as if it was his que, a hulking blue mech came barreling through the door, data pads in servo. Prowl jerked back before pinching the base of his nose cone. Ratchet remained motionless, as if expecting it. 

Jazz jumped back and placed his servos flat on the wall. The blue mech closed the door behind him and greeted his comrades. 

“You called?” he said with an animated tone. 

“Indeed,” Prowl grunted. He turned to Jazz. “This is the Neutral we picked up, he claims his name is Jazz.”

“What do you mean ‘claims?” he asked Prowl with an easy going smirk. “If he says that’s his name, that’s his name.”

Prowl seemed to dismiss the comment. “Jazz, this is Smokescreen, the Interrogation and Psychology Operations Officer of the Autobot Army.”

Jazz was suddenly daunted by this mech. An officer coming to meet with him? There must’ve been some sort of mistake. Unless Jazz did something to upset the Autobots. He prayed to Primus that he didn’t.

Smokescreen pulled a wide grin and offered his servo to Jazz. He inspected the servo before grasping it in his own.

“I’ll leave you to do your work Smokescreen.” Prowl said.

Smokescreen ducked his helm as the two mechs left the room. Jazz’ visor faded drastically as he watched Prowl leave. 

The blue mech in front of him onlined his data pad and poised a stylus over the surface. 

“Jazz, correct?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

“Neutral?”

“Yes.”

Smokescreen scribbled something down on the data pad. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” he said. 

Jazz nodded. 

“Alright so,” Smokescreen leaned back in his chair. “What do you remember from the past few decacycles?”

“Decacycles?”

Smokescreen nodded. “Anything you can remember.”

Jazz wasn’t concerned with Smokescreen’s question. He was concerned with what is suggested. 

“How long was I in there for?” Jazz asked in a slightly panicked tone. 

Smokescreen squinted his optics in a confused manner. “Well,” he started. “I was hoping you could tell us.”

Jazz put a servo to his helm, vents becoming ragged. 

Thinking fast, Smokescreen said, “Let’s forget about that for one moment.”

Jazz inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. When he nodded, Smokescreen resumed. 

“Are you aware of where you were in captivity?” he asked. 

“The Decepticons.”

“Correct, but do you know what ship?”

“What ship?”

Jazz sifted through his memories, trying to suppress the bad ones. Never did any of his captors mention the names of ships.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” he muttered. 

Smokescreen started scribbling more things down. He wrote down not only Jazz’ answers, but his movements as well. Whenever Jazz released his grip on something, he’d write down the motion next to the words he said. 

Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Does ‘The Nemesis’ mean anything to you?”

It did. Jazz turned his helm away from Smokescreen, trying to think of where he’d heard it from.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Do you know anything else about it?” Jazz shook his helm at Smokescreen’s question. “Well, the Nemesis is a powerful warship, the strongest in the Decepticon army, in fact. Because of this, we have reason to believe that Megatron himself if stationed there.”

Jazz felt his spark drop. Megatron, a feared warlord, was on the same ship as him.

Seeing the panic, Smokescreen continued with caution. “Did you see Megatron while aboard the ship?”

Jazz shook his helm frantically. “I hardly saw anyone. My visor was broken the entire time I was there.”

“Right, right,” he wrote on his data pad briefly. “Do you know where you are now?”

“Ship-wise, no”

Smokescreen nodded and continued to write. “Well, it’s within your rights to know, this the Ark. Prime ship of the Autobot Army.”

So that’s why there’s an officer here, Jazz thought. But if he’s here, how many other officers are onboard?

When Jazz nodded Smokescreen continued, “This just about wraps everything up. For now, at least. I’ll be coming to meet you here until after you’re out of the med bay. After that, someone will be assigned to you. To watch over you and make sure you’re ok.”

Jazz thanked him as he got up. Smokescreen smiled to him and headed to the door. Without another word, he left.


	3. Chosen

Jazz watched the medic at work, digits flying across the metal with speed and precision. He'd mutter under his breath occasionally, so quiet, Jazz couldn't hear what he was saying. It was entertaining to watch. 

“Ratchet,” Jazz said. 

The medic, not daring to look up from his work, answered in a low tone, “What?”

“How bad is it?” When the medic finally glanced at him, he clarified, “My injuries.”

Ratchet resumed his work with a huff. “They’re not great, but they’re not terrible.”

“The officer who came to see me said that after I’m out of the med bay, someone will be assigned to watch over me.”

The medic nodded and stood to work on Jazz’ shoulder wound. “Yes, given the circumstances that sounds like protocol.”

“Who will it be?”

“Depends.” he said. 

“On what?”

He already knew how gruff Ratchet could be, he’d already heard the medic chewing out soldiers for arriving injured. Jazz appreciated how patient he was being with him. Instead of using the tone he used with others, loud and aggressive, he was being quiet and understanding. 

“Everything really. The soldier’s susceptibility to time management, how well they get to know you, and also your own opinion,” he informed. 

Jazz nodded without another word. 

“Is there anyone you have in mind?” Ratchet asked. “I could put a good word in.”

His thoughts drifted to Prowl, the one who carried him out and unchained him. He remembered whimpering alone in that room, blind to everything. Then he heard a deep calm voice and was met with the sight of a black and white Praxian.

But he hardly knew him. It would be wrong to force himself upon him. After all, he was just doing his job.

“No.” Jazz said. 

The medic was silent once more. Normally, Jazz hated silence. But this medic seemed to worship it. It made Jazz become more appreciative towards it.

“There, done.” he stepped away. 

Jazz rolled his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Ratchet said nothing in return as he began putting his supplies away. Jazz remained still. He knew that as soon as the medic left, he’d be left alone. Sometimes, he was left alone for joors until someone came for him. 

Once a cycle, Ratchet would come to make some more repairs. The visit would be swift and quiet. The conversation they just shared was a rarity.

Jazz would sometimes hear other voices on the other side of the door. They usually made him feel uneasy. In Decepticon captivity, whenever he heard voices it meant someone would be taking him to his interrogator. 

After he got past that, he liked to listen in on their conversations. Often times, he didn’t understand them. But soon, he began to recognize voices and names.

His favorite visitor by far was Smokescreen. Once a day, he’d come barging into Jazz’ private medical room with a data pad in servo. The two of them would talk for what was a long time in actuality, but to Jazz never seemed like enough. 

Jazz still wasn’t certain on what Smokescreen’s therapeutic tactic was. If it was to gain his trust through conversation, he’d already done it. Jazz knew it wasn’t safe to trust someone so easily, someone who he’d known for only a few cycles. But after all this time of being on the run, he just wanted someone to trust.

* * *

His visor brightened significantly at the sight of the Praxian on the other sight of the med bay. It had been awhile since he’d seen the sight of his savior. 

Through the crack of the door, he watched as the black and white mech made a beeline for Ratchet. They exchanged data pads, speaking quietly while they did so. Jazz watched as his doorwings flicked and his facial expressions shifted. 

“I plan on releasing him soon. He’s not fully healed, but it’s enough.” Ratchet said. “I don’t think it’s doing him any good to be cooped up in a room for so long.”

Jazz saw the slight flick of Prowl’s helm. “What does Smokescreen say?”

“Nothing!” Ratchet sounded annoyed to say the least. “You know how confidential he is.”

Prowl noted something down on his data pad. “True, but legally, he isn’t inclined to tell us anything regarding the personal life of anyone.”

Ratchet rested his servo on the table he was leaning on, shaking his helm. “I don’t know why you defend him.”

“I don’t unless he has done something that violates the law.” Even from Jazz’ view point he could hear the edge in Prowl’s voice.

The two mechs turned away from Jazz and started to speak in a hushed tone. Knowing he wasn’t going to hear any more of their conversation, he stepped away. 

Jazz was both excited yet terrified to emerge from his private medical room. While it was boring, he felt safe here. While in the clutches of the Decepticons, he was put in rooms for cycles on end. Only this time around, he wasn’t shackled to the ground.

Smokescreen came to visit him, as usual. He pulled up a chair next to the medical berth, data pad and stylus ready. Jazz sat cross legged in front of him, eager to start their daily conversation. However today, Smokescreen came bearing a question in mind.

“I’m not sure if Ratchet’s told you this yet, but he plans on discharging you soon.” Smokescreen said. “Until your better, someone will be watching over you, as you already know. Is there anyone in particular you’d like to request?”

Jazz stiffened. Prowl. This was his last chance to ask for Prowl. All this time, he wanted to thank his savior and get to know him better.

Jazz shook his helm. Instantly, he regretting it. 

Smokescreen’s optics lit up. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I know you haven’t gotten a chance to meet a whole lot of mecha, but I’m sure there’s someone you have in mind.”

Oh, he’s good. Jazz couldn’t help but think.

Biting his lip, Jazz said, “I...what about Prowl?”

“Prowl?”

“I’ve heard of him.” Jazz lied. “What’s he like?’

Smokescreen sat back in his chair. “Well, I like him. But to others, he’s an…” Smokescreen bit the tip of his stylus. “Acquired taste.”

“Would I be any trouble to him?” Jazz asked nervously. 

“Oh no, not at all. Prowl’s very devoted to the Autobot cause. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

* * *

Jazz quivered in fear behind the taller mech who was leading him through the maze that was the Ark. Smokescreen had told him that he was ready, that he could keep his composure while out in the open. He believed him, but now he was starting to have his doubts. 

They passed by several mechs, all stopped and saluted. Prowl would nod to them and mutter ‘At ease.’ Jazz would continue to scurry behind him, afraid of making optic contact with anyone.

As they entered a hallway, Jazz noticed a small sign. ‘Officer’s Quarters’ it read. Jazz stopped in his tracks. Surely, this couldn’t be right. He looked behind himself, unsure of the situation. 

The saluting of other soldiers, his proud demeanor, now this?  
Was it possible that Prowl was an officer? 

He slunk behind Prowl. His extensive doorwings sat high on his back, unmoving. The handsome appendages made Jazz feel intimidated. He was so always stoic.

They stopped in front of a door at the very back of the hall. Prowl typed in a code and the door whooshed open. He stepped inside and held the door for Jazz.

Jazz put one fearful pede in followed by the other. He hunched his shoulders forward and glanced around the room. 

Currently, they were in the living room, which had a large screen on one end, a couch, and shelves. On the far wall, he saw two doors. To his right, he saw an open door to what looked like a kitchenette. To the left, was yet another closed door.

While the smallness was comforting to him, he felt uneasy about the closed doors. He didn’t know what was behind them and there were so many possibilities, it could be anything.

“Your room is here.” Prowl said from where he stood.

Jazz’ helm flicked to one of the doors on the back wall. Prowl stood to the side of an open door frame, presenting Jazz’ room. 

Jazz crept over to the door, as quickly and quietly as possible. He passed by Prowl and stood in the doorway to further inspect the room. 

It was a simple room, really. A berth in the corner, a small night stand with a lamp was at its side. There were shelves and a desk on the other side of the room as well. 

“My room is next to yours. The kitchen is through the door next to the couch. The wash racks are parallel to the kitchen.” Prowl stated flatly. “Any questions?”

Jazz forced himself to relax his shoulders. He slowly turned around, “No.”

Prowl dipped his helm curtly and turned to leave. As he was leaving, Jazz had a moment of panic. He wanted to say something but couldn’t remember what it was. 

Running off of slight hysteria, he called out to Prowl much louder than he anticipated, “Thank you!”

Prowl stopped dead in his tracks. Jazz was startled by the slickness of his motion. 

He craned his helm backwards and muttered, “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have this story titles Clash of Class that I've rewritten a million times. And guess what? I'm doing it again. 
> 
> Basically, the story is about Smokescreen and Nova. Those of you who have read my other Jazz and Prowl story know what I'm talking about. So I already have two chapters written and I plan on posting it soon. 
> 
> In my other story, there were tones of a college au. Well, I dumped that and now I'm focusing on the social classes and romance entirely. For those of you who are wondering, yes, there is Jazz x Prowl
> 
> If you have any ideas or suggestions, please, let me know!


	4. Debri

Jazz woke up late into the morning. He’d been up for a majority of the lunar cycle. Every time the slightest noise met his audios, he’d be ripped from recharge by his own processor. It was maddening.

He flung the blanket to the side and swung his pedes over the edge. The black and white mech threw his arms up and twisted his torso, mindful of his healing injuries.

He tuned his audios to his surroundings, hearing nothing. 

Creeping towards the door, he still heard nothing. He placed his servo on the doorknob and pushed the door open. A heavy creak resonated through the hinges. Jazz took a short step into the living room.

Prowl’s door was closed, but he knew he’d be gone by now. Being an officer, he assumed Prowl had many responsibilities to tend to. He, being neutral, was not at the top of the list.

Prowl had urged him to get energon from the kitchenette anytime he wanted. Jazz would do so, but only when Prowl wasn’t around. When Prowl was around, he’d hide in his room.

Jazz knew that he wasn’t going to be warm and fuzzy. He’d seen enough to know that much. It wasn’t Prowl’s fault, really. Jazz had become skittish since his run in with the Decepticons. But it wasn’t his fault either. The only blamable entity was fate.

As Jazz reached for the cabinet, he heard a shuffling noise coming from the other room He froze for a moment, clutched with fear, arm still above his helm to reach for a cube. 

“Jazz?” a mild voice called.

Said mech jerked, snapping out of his terrified state. The cube he was reaching for slipped from his servos and shattered on the counter. Jazz back pedaled several steps until he hit the wall.

“Are you alright?”

He jerked once more to see a black and white mech placed in the doorway. Jazz scooted away from him so he was sitting in the corner of the kitchenette. 

“Jazz?” Prowl took a step towards him, causing Jazz to try and shield himself with his servos. “I won’t hurt you.”

Jazz paused for a second. He looked up and saw Prowl looming over him. 

I won’t hurt you.

He recalled when he first said that to him. He was still strapped to the chair. His vision was gone, use of his limbs taken from him, all he could do was whimper in fear. 

Prowl saw the softness in his face and took pity on him. He out stretched a servo. Jazz shied away from it at first, but quickly became accustomed to it. Jazz’ servo was placed in his own and Prowl gently heaved him up to his pedes.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. 

Jazz looked between Prowl and the mess, “I’m sorry.” he apologized. 

“For what? It’s not your fault.” Prowl urged him to follow. 

He led him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa. Jazz watched as he left the room. There was a moment of silence before he heard the scraping of glass against the tile. Remorse began to creep in. It wasn’t right for Prowl to clean up his mess. He made it after all. 

Jazz hopped off the couch and slithered into the kitchenette. He watched Prowl for a moment as he swept the glass and dumped it into the trash can.

“Do you need help?” Jazz asked. 

Prowl looked up and over to the mech gripping the door frame. “No,” he said. “It’s already been cleaned.”

As Prowl approached, looking out the large window on the wall, Jazz couldn’t take his optics off of him. His doorwings grew even stiffer as he stalked towards him. His optics narrowed and he stopped in his tracks.

The room shook abruptly. Jazz fell to his knees and gripped the door frame harder. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see Prowl rushing to the window, digit pressed to his helm and already muttering things through a comm. 

Once the rattling stopped, he turned around. “Jazz, are you alright?”

Jazz nodded but stayed on the ground. Prowl knelt down next to him. 

“I have to go,” he said. “Would you like to come or stay?”

Jazz gave it a brief thought. Prowl was an officer, he had important things to do with important mecha. 

“I’ll stay.” he sputtered, knowing in his processor that he couldn’t get in the way of this.

Prowl ducked his helm and stood up. He bid a goodbye to Jazz.  
When the door shut, Jazz welled up the courage to stand up again. He didn’t expect himself to act in such a way. It was both embarrassing and surprising. 

He sat on the couch, knees together, servos folded in his lap. Perhaps he could go see Smokescreen. He had urged Jazz to come see him whenever he liked. But then again, Smokescreen was an officer too. He probably had just as many responsibilities as Prowl.

Soon, he was pacing. His shoulders were rigid as he fiddled with his servos. His angst got worse and worse as time went on. Shouldn’t Prowl be back by now?

Shifting from pede to pede, he stood in front of the door, His spark clenched with nervousness and fear. His digits wrapped around the knob and turned. 

The door creaked open. The hallway was silent and empty. Jazz couldn’t decide if it was comforting or unnerving. 

He dashed through the hallways, making random turns as he went. As he rounded the corners, he’d grip the edges and inspect every possible turn. 

He made it to what looked like a Command Deck. Soldiers were bustling around, carrying out various conversations and exchanging data pads. A tall red mech bumped into him, making Jazz recoil in on himself.

“Jazz?” he heard someone call. 

His black helm whipped to the side. Pushing through a crowd was a tall blue mech. Jazz’ visor intensified at the sight of him. 

“What happened? What are you doing here?” concern laced his voice as he neared his patient.

“Uh…” Jazz fidgeted. “I… got nervous...being alone for so long.”

Smokescreen’s blue optics dulled and softened. He put his arm around Jazz’ shoulders and started to lead him away from the Command Deck. 

“How about we just go to my office and talk?” he asked in a soft tone to not attract any attention. 

Jazz nodded eagerly. Smokescreen led him to his office and opened the door for him. Jazz sat in the chair parallel from Smokescreen’s desk.

Once he sat down, Jazz asked, “What caused the rumbling from earlier?”

Smokescreen sighed and absent mindedly rubbed his chevron. “We hit some debris. It didn’t damage anything severe, but our ship has a couple dents. Nothing to worry about, really.”

Jazz nodded. 

Smokescreen grabbed his notes and poised his stylus over the data pad.

“So,” he started. “Have you been recharging well?”

Jazz thought about it for a moment. He wanted to lie, tell Smokescreen he was fine, he didn’t want to worry him. But in the end, Smokescreen would see right through him. He always did. 

So he compromised. “Better than I did before,” he stated as clearly as possible. 

Smokescreen looked at the data pad. “Are you still okay living with Prowl?”

Jazz thought back to earlier this cycle. He’d been living with Prowl for about half a decacycle and never had he showed any compassion towards him until now.

“Of course.”

“Prowl can be dense,” he started again. “Are you still comfortable with that?”

“Yes.”

Smokescreen nodded and recorded something on the data pad.  
“So, I wanted to ask you today,” he starts, looking up from the data pad. “What was the last thing you remember before the Decepticons took ahold of you?”

Jazz stiffened at the memory. He appreciated how direct Smokescreen could be, but there were times when it startled him. 

“I…” he trailed off. “Was hiding from them.”

He started writing again. “Where?”

“My ship. In a closet.”

He settled the data pad in his lap. “What about noises?” he asked gently. “Do remember any sounds?”

Jazz bit his lip component. “I remember hearing voices, but I can’t remember what they were saying.”

Smokescreen nodded. “While you were hiding, what were you doing in the closet?”

“I had a fake Autobot badge.” he said. 

Smokescreen had seen those before. Planets run by Neutrals would have merchants who sold them to other Neutrals who wanted to stay safe. If someone looked like they belonged to a faction, they were less likely to be offlined. 

“I thought that it was Autobots who were invading the ship, so I thought that if they saw I was an Autobot too,” he continued softly. “They wouldn’t hurt me.”

“And what did you do when they opened the closet and saw you?”

“Well, I saw that they were ‘Cons.” he said. “I still tried to pretend that I was an Autobot, and they believed me, but then they took me captive.”

“Your visor was cracked, yes?” When Jazz nodded, he continued, “How and when did that happen?”

Jazz clenched his fists at that, processor trying to fight off the memory. He’d been suppressing the images for so long now. He knew that this was therapy, a place where he could express these traumas, but he’d worked so hard to keep his mind under wraps. 

“Uh…” he trailed off. “It happened,”

Seeing his extreme discomfort, Smokescreen said, “Perhaps another time?”

Jazz vented. “Yes.”

* * *

Prowl stood in front of the large screen plastered on the wall. He read the words and deciphered the knowledge. 

“He hasn’t said anything yet?” a deep voice said from behind him said out loud. 

“No,” Smokescreen sighed. “But he’s been through a lot.”

Prowl turned to the three mechs sitting at a table behind him. Ratchet and Optimus Prime looked to also be analyzing the data. Smokescreen was hunched over a data pad resting on the table.

“But I think I know who his interrogator was.” Smokescreen said.

He stood up and walked over to the screen. Prowl waited by his side and watched him press a few buttons. The files of a high ranking Decepticon spilled out on the screen.

“Shockwave.” Ratchet whispered.

Smokescreen nodded. “I’d have to ask Jazz about the torture methods he used in order to confirm it. But with what I have, every piece of information points to Shockwave.”

“It would explain the traced of drugs I found in his system,” Ratchet added.

“Have you found out anything else, Smokescreen?” Prime asked, making everyone look towards him.

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.” Smokescreen paused and chuckled. “He’s a tough one, I’ll say that much.” Now much more serious he said, “But he’s been alone for Primus knows how long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Do you guys like longer chapters with more time in between updates, or shorter chapters with updates placed closer together? (If you guys feel up to it, you can explain your reasoning with your answer. I just like to get to know my readers better)
> 
> Thank you!


	6. Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who read Trials, may have some deja vu.

Jazz heard Prowl come in. From the crack in the doorway, he watched as he walked to his room, a box in servo. 

He knew he should ask Prowl to escort him to Smokescreen. He had asked Prowl to do so every cycle to avoid Jazz getting lost again. He had told Jazz that to inform him when he was ready to leave.

It was getting late now. Jazz wanted to get up and ask Prowl but found his courage to be lacking. 

Once he was sure Prowl had disappeared into his quarters, he emerged. His pede steps were silent, not even the sensitivity of doorwings could sense them. 

Prowl’s door was directly in front of him now. He fiddled with his digits and looked to the entrance behind him. 

Technically, he could leave and go by himself. But then Smokescreen would want to know where Prowl was. He couldn’t lie to Smokescreen and he couldn’t risk getting Prowl in trouble. 

He curled his digits into a loose fist and gently knocked on the door. Nothing. Taking in a large vent and holding it, he tried again. This time the door creaked open unexpectedly. 

Jazz stood in a stunned silence, his processor going blank. His optics darted for an escape, but found themselves to be falling on Prowl. He was kneeling over something, his back to Jazz. When he realized that there was another presence in the room, he turned his helm and flicked a doorwing. 

But Jazz wasn’t looking at Prowl. He was looking at the object he had in servo. 

Jazz sprung backwards, servos shielding his face plates. He fell onto his back, hard. Prowl was standing in an instant. 

“Jazz!” he yelled. “What happened?”

He rushed over to his side, gun still in servo. Jazz flinched from him, confusing Prowl even further. Following the fearful mech’s gaze, he saw the weapin wrapped in his digits. 

Tossing the gun aside he said, “Jazz, I wouldn’t hurt you. You know that.” 

Jazz lowered his servos and looked at Prowl. He stared at his face plates, noting the genuine expression he held. 

Prowl outstretched a servo to him. Jazz examined it before placing his own in Prowl’s palm. He pulled him up into a sitting position, allowing him time to recuperate. 

“Why do you have…?” Jazz trailed off.

Prowl’s doorwings rose slightly. “I’ve grown attached to them, I guess you could say.” he looked away for a moment. “I suppose I should’ve hidden them better.”

Jazz began to panic. Prowl was blaming himself for his own over reaction. 

“It’s not your fault!” Jazz blurted suddenly.

A sly smile tugged at Prowl’s lip plates. He huffed a sigh and pulled Jazz to his pedes. 

“Let’s not blame ourselves or others,” he stated. Prowl glanced at the clock. “Shall I take you to Smokescreen?” he asked.

Seizing the opportunity, Jazz nodded vigorously. Prowl led him out of his quarters and began the trek down the hallway. 

As they walked, Jazz fiddled with his digits. Prowl, however, was as unwavering as ever. Occasionally, Jazz would glance over at him, wondering how he was always so confident. 

“Prowl,” Jazz said, wanting to break the silence. “Why did you have a gun?”

Prowl glanced at Jazz briefly. Seeing his hunched demeanor, he knew he had to be gentle with his explanation. 

“I collect them.” he said as simply as possible.

“Why?”

“Keeps me sane.”

Jazz straightened at that. Perhaps this collection was more important than he thought. 

As they approached a corner, they heard hushed murmurs. Rounding the corner, they saw two figures standing remarkably close to the wall. 

The towering blue one was Smokescreen. The other one was a red femme whom Jazz had never seen before. But the unfamiliarity wasn’t what alarmed him. What alarmed him was the fact that Smokescreen’s glossa was attached to her neck cables.

“Every time I see you two together, it’s more scandalous.” Prowl spat at them. 

The two looked up and over to Prowl with no sense of shame in their optics. The red femme slipped out from underneath Smokescreen’s grasp and sauntered down the hallway. Smokescreen followed her with his optics before directing his helm to the two mechs. 

As he approached, Prowl scowled, “Every time, Smokescreen.”

Smokescreen waved him off. “It’s not that bad.”

Prowl shook his helm and laid a servo on his chevron. “I brought Jazz to you.”

Smokescreen thanked Prowl and took Jazz the rest of the way to his office. As they were entering the office Jazz asked a question. 

“Who was that?”

“Huh? Oh, the femme you saw?” Smokescreen accompanied Jazz through the door. “That was my mate.”

Jazz’ visor intensified with clarity. He had no idea Smokescreen was bonded. The thought was sobering to Jazz. If anything, it made him view Smokescreen as a peer instead of the powerful Autobot officer he was. 

They both took their seats and began speaking. This session was much easier than last time. Lately, Smokescreen had been willing him to speak of the Decepticons. It was a touchy subject, one that gave Jazz endless nightmares. But in the end, Jazz had to realize that Smokescreen was just doing his job. 

They were in the middle of a light hearted discussion when a red light filled the room. A blaring alarm sounded and the voice of a mech filled the ship. 

“Take your battle stations. This is not a drill,” he said. 

Smokescreen swore under his breath and began muttering things into his comm. link. He moved across the room to his shelf and plucked a few data pads off the shelf.

He turned off his comm. and turned to Jazz. “There’s been a Decepticon attack,” he spoke urgently. “Stick with me and you’ll be fine.” He slammed the data pads on the desk.

Jazz nodded eagerly and glued himself to Smokescreen. The Autobot officer opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a few guns. They briefly reminded Jazz of Prowl.

The two of them slipped out of the office door. Other soldiers were running past them, weapons already in servo. Jazz gripped Smokescreen’s arm as they slithered through the hallways. 

Occasionally, Smokescreen would stop them both and duck behind a corner. When he did, there would be noises coming from across the hallway, sometimes a loud bang would ensue. During those times, Jazz would bury his face into Smokescreen’s arm and try to block out the noises. 

Smokescreen squeezed Jazz’ shoulder. “Prowl’s around here somewhere, he’ll help us hide you.”

“Hide me?”

Smokescreen said, “Well, we can’t have you fighting on behalf of the Autobots.”

Jazz paused. Because he was Neutral. Because he was Neutral, they wouldn’t let him fight. 

Jazz gave a firm nod and allowed himself to be pulled to his pedes by Smokescreen. They eventually found Prowl. He was slinking around the hallways, much like they were. The two groups met in the middle. Smokescreen and Prowl instantly began to collaborate on various routes they could take.

“I’ve been trying to get to the Command Center, but it looks like the Decepticons have blocked it off. It might take some brute force to break past their barriers.” Prowl said. 

Smokescreen peered around a corner. “We’re heading that way, we’ll come with you.”

The three of them slithered across the hallways. Prowl was in the front, checking around corners for any Decepticons. Smokescreen was in the back, a servo on Jazz’ shoulder, ready to pull him back into safety if the need arose. 

As Prowl was peering around a corner, a round of gun shots was heard. He whipped around the corner, gun poised and ready. Smokescreen yanked Jazz towards him and held him to his chassis. Jazz clutched onto the mech, yet glued his optics to Prowl.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Prowl sprung into the hallway. He stood in the center and fired off several rounds. Jazz flinched at every bang. He looked between Prowl and Smokescreen. It appeared Smokescreen’s gun was jammed, rendering him useless.

Just as he was looking back at Prowl, he saw the unspeakable.  
It happened with in an instant. Prowl was running back to the other two mechs, seemingly out of ammo. As he was running, a barrage of bullets pierced his frame. He jerked and spasmed for a few moments before falling limply onto the ground.

He was unable to look away. 

Smokescreen sprung from where he was kneeling and ran to the fallen soldier’s side. He stopped for a moment, servos hovering in an unsure manner before hastily cradling Prowl to his chassis. Jazz sat on the ground, unable to comprehend what just happened.

He could only look at the puddle of energon on the ground. Smokescreen seemed frantic. He was torn between the gravely injured mech on the ground and his gun. Prowl’s servo twitched upwards towards Smokescreen’s face plates. Smokescreen, however, was far too focused on other things to notice.

Jazz saw the Decepticons approach. His processor felt heavy and warm. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. Just as he saw Prowl’s arm fall limp, he crashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, did this chapter fight me. And I mean FIGHT. 
> 
> But anyways, it seems like a majority of you want longer chapters. Thanks to all who voted, it was fun reading the comments. 
> 
> I also have another story I'm working on. It's a rewritten version of Clash of Class. Basically, it's a romance of Smokescreen and Nova (my oc who actually appears in this chapter). And yes, there will be Jazz and Prowl romance in it.


	7. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean this chapter is shit, but the next one will be longer and better (and probably have some fluff in it)

It was a whirlwind of events that led up to this. 

When Jazz woke up, he heard yelling. It was from a voice he couldn’t recognize. They sounded livid. Scratch that, they sounded like they were blinded by rage. 

He hopped off the berth and opened the door to the small room he was in. The screaming only intensified. Now there was a new voice shouting over the old one. 

He saw Ratchet and Smokescreen being held back by larger mechs. Their voices were loud and booming, piercing through the quietness that usually rained down on the med bay. 

Jazz had never seen the two so enraged. He’d seen Ratchet chew out a few soldiers, but never anything like this. Only this time, Smokescreen was the one who shocked him. His wings were flared to unimaginable heights, denta bared as he shouted. Jazz had never seen his therapist in such a state.

“Where is he?” Smokescreen roared over and over, practically inconsolable. 

Ratchet, on the other hand, was no better. Instead of repeating a vague question numerous times, he was shouting profanities at anyone and everyone.

As Jazz was stepping out of the room, he saw a group of mecha rush towards the scene. The red femme from before stood in front of Smokescreen. The angered mech immediately softened at the sight of her, allowing the other mech holding him back to loosen his grip. 

A few other mechs rushed over to Ratchet in an attempt to calm him down. As they were pulling him away, he yelled something over his shoulder. Something that made Smokescreen turn around and open his glossa. The femme yanked him away and led him into a side room, much like the one Jazz was in. 

For several minutes, Jazz remained in the doorway. He wanted to let things cool down before he sauntered off. 

As he was creeping around the med bay, he came across Ratchet surrounded by other mechs, high grade already in servo. The medic immediately noticed the smaller mech’s presence. 

“Prowl’s in room 32.” he said without looking up from his conversation. 

Jazz stiffened. He’d forgotten about Prowl and other previous events. The Decepticon attack, Prowl’s injuries, Smokescreen’s fear, all came rushing back to him. He gave a quick nod and went scurrying down the hallway, searching for a ‘32’ on a door. 

When he reached it, he found it to already be open. There were voices inside. Apparently, Prowl already had visitors. He identified one of them to be Smokescreen. The other were all foreign to him.

He peered around the corner to get a glimpse of what was inside. For a split second, he saw three visitors crowded around the medical berth. He saw Smokescreen first. The blue mech seemed to have calmed down significantly. Instead of yelling and screaming, he now had his servo wrapped around Prowl’s and was talking joyfully. 

The Smokescreen’s mate was also there. She sat comfortably on the counter at the foot of the berth. He knew she probably wasn’t supposed to do that. He could already hear the lecture Ratchet would give her. 

Then there was the small gray mech on the opposite side of Prowl’s medical berth, who was also chattering away. 

Jazz hid behind the wall. He heard shuffling and a few chair scraping on the ground. The ones who were in the room left. 

On their way out, Smokescreen spotted Jazz and said happily, “You’re awake!” 

He gave him a firm slap on the shoulder before continuing on his way with the other two. Jazz gulped and peeked inside. He saw Prowl, who was still in stasis, lying on the medical berth. He had none of his armor on by the looks of it. It allowed him to see the numerous patch jobs covering his protoform. 

Jazz took another step inside and warily approached the berth, minding the wires on the floor. He’d never seen Prowl in stasis before. He looked peaceful. Usually, he had a cold unforgiving touch to him. Jazz had seen that lifted a few times before, but never like this. 

He sat down next to the berth and watched Prowl. Last time he saw him, he was on the ground covered in his own energon. It was a good change of pace. 

After a little while, Jazz grew tired. He knew it would be best to go back to Prowl’s quarters, but he wasn’t confident that he knew his way there. He could always ask someone to take him. Then again, he’d hate to be a bother. 

He knew he’d get in trouble for this, whether it was from Prowl or Ratchet. Regardless of the consequences, he still did it.   
Tiredly, he turned off the light and climbed up onto the berth next to Prowl. For several moments, he laid on top of the blankets and watched Prowl in stasis. 

As he was offlining his visor, he uttered the phrase, “Recharge well.”

But later in the lunar cycle, Prowl onlined. 

His optics flickered to life, the blue glow being the only source of light in the room. His frame was heavy with the painkillers Ratchet had pumped into his system. But in a sense, he was thankful. After retaining injuries of such magnitude, he was glad he couldn’t feel a thing.

While the memory was fuzzy, he could still remember what happened. He was running back to Smokescreen and Jazz, knowing all too well that Smokescreen’s gun was jammed. He heard the gunshots that would later hit him. 

But for a moment, all too brief, he and Jazz made optic contact. He looked into Jazz’ visor as he fell, noticing the terror poorly hidden behind his mask. He could hear Smokescreen shouting his name in the background. 

When he fell, his doorwings flared in pain. His entire frame was writhing in agony. Smokescreen pulled him into a sitting position and cradled him to his chassis. As comforting as Smokescreen was, Prowl was still unnerved by the fact that he left Jazz alone. 

The Decepticons were approaching and he knew it. There was no way in Pit Jazz knew how to defend himself. He wanted to scold Smokescreen for leaving him alone, protect Jazz, do something, anything. 

He could already picture the Decepticons holding him up by the neck cables. He could hear Jazz’ screams echoing in his processor. They wouldn’t go away. 

But all his fears vanished when he felt a strange warmth next to him.

Looking over, he saw a small mech through the blue light that was his optics. The black and white mech was curled into his frame, visor offlined.

Prowl had seen Jazz in many different states, but never this one. The mech always seemed scared of him, with the way he shied away and never actually looked at him. It was a nice to see him comfortable in his own plating. 

Prowl glanced around the room. No one was here. The air was still. The only sound was the spark monitor attatched to his frame.

He shifted the shoulder near Jazz, testing if he’d stir. When he didn’t Prowl raised his arm and brought it around Jazz’s shoulders. The two were still. Prowl because of his awkwardness and numerous injuries. Jazz because of the serene state he was in.

Prowl huffed a content sigh, settled down into the medical berth, and offlined his optics.

* * *

This wasn’t the first time Ratchet had seen something like this. It happened frequently amongst bonded couples, but he’d seen the twins do it a couple times. However, those scenarios had something in common. The ones doing it were all romantically or platonically involved.

So where did these two fit in? Answer: they didn’t. Unless of course, something happened that he didn’t know about. 

Nevertheless, Ratchet checked Prowl’s vitals and replaced his IV. As he was leaving, however, he took one last glance at the two, noting the fact that Prowl’s arm was draped suspiciously over Jazz’ shoulders.

He paused for a moment, studying the two. Perhaps something did happen that he didn’t know about. Wouldn’t be the first time. There were a few couples aboard the Ark who would offline before their relationship was made public. 

It was understandable, of course. In times of war, being bonded could be deadly. When one half of a bonded couple offlined, the other half would typically follow in anguish. 

Ratchet pursed his lips and went to the cabinet. He pulled out a blanket and spread it over Jazz’ frame. The smaller mech whimpered and scooted closer to his counterpart. 

The medic switched the light off and left.


	8. Even Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title explains it all

When Prowl onlined, he was alone. In place of his temporary berth mate, was a warm spot and a spare blanket. 

He sat up, his own blanket falling off his silvery protoform. For the first time, he examined his frame. There were small patch wounds everywhere, some were melded together where he got hit multiple times in the same spot. Others were small slabs of metal, covering what was surely a nasty picture of mangles metal. 

Prowl never liked to look at his wounds. Every time Ratchet would work on him, he’d look away. He wasn’t squeamish, he’d seen too many things on the battlefield to feel that way. It was just unnerving to see his frame in such a sorry state. He didn’t like to see the holes and cuts in his pristine silver metal. He didn’t like to look at the bumps and ripples and that would scar in the aftermath of those wounds. It was disgusting to him.

The door swinging open tore him from his thoughts. Thinking it was Ratchet, he remained seated, knowing that a lecture was coming. However, the frame in the doorway moved alarmingly fast. Looking up, he saw it to be Smokescreen.

He perked up a bit. “Smokescreen-”

“You’re awake.” Smokescreen said in an exasperated tone. He shut the door and turned back to the wounded mech, servos on hips and wearing a firm expression. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Prowl met Smokescreen gaze with annoyed undertones.

“About Jazz.”

“What happened?”

“You tell me!”

Smokescreen shut the door behind himself and stepped further into the room. Prowl followed him around the room with his optics as he sat on the counter parallel to the berth. 

“I’m afraid I really don’t know, Smokescreen.”

“Why was he in here?”

Prowl paused for a moment, computing what he said. How did he know that Jazz was here? The annoyance in his frame only grew as he contemplated these questions. Smokescreen wasn’t trying to be rude, if anything he was just curious, but Prowl hated it when people try to pry.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Smokescreen gave him a knowing look. “He was in here last lunar cycle. Ratchet said he was recharging next to you.”

So Ratchet told Smokescreen, he thought. 

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this.” Smokescreen hoisted himself off the counter and approached Prowl. “I mean you two are nothing alike, but opposites attract I guess.”

Prowl quirked an optic ridge. “What.”

“You and Jazz.” Smokescreen chirped. “An unlikely relationship but I can see why it appeals.”

“Relationship?!” Prowl’s doorwings flared into a sharp ‘v’. His spark monitor spiked suddenly, sending loud beeps through the room. “You’re mistaken Smokescreen. There is nothing between me and Jazz, I am merely looking after him while he recovers.”

“And since when does that require intimate cuddling?”

Prowl sputtered nonsense. As he was about to start his rebuttal, Ratchet burst through the door.

“What happened?” he shouted.

Prowl waved his servos in front of him as the medic approached. “Nothing.” he grunted.

Ratchet checked his vitals quickly and quietly and shot the two mechs a warning stare. “If anything happens again,” he shoved his digit to Smokescreen’s chassis. “I’m throwing you out.”

Smokescreen waved him off and watched him leave. Prowl took his silence as an opportunity to continue his previous statement. 

“First of all,” he started. “I don’t know why he was here. I onlined and he was next to me.” Smokescreen crossed his arms smugly. “Second, even if we were romantically intertwined, I don’t see it in your right to push for information.”

Smokescreen shook his helm with a small smile. “I mean I support it one hundred percent.” Prowl tried to argue but found that nothing came out. “But I mean, you could at least wait until he’s mentally stable.”

Smokescreen gave Prowl a pat on the shoulder. Prowl tried to come up with some sort of argument, but only responded with useless stuttering. With one last knowing grin, he left.

* * *

After learning that Jazz had mild medical training, Ratchet gave him a first aid kit and told him to look after Prowl. Jazz reluctantly accepted the resposibility. But only after Ratchet assured him he wouldn't be doing anything major, just cleaning some of the smaller wounds.

Apparently, when Prowl fell, he cut his cheek. It wasn’t anything life threatening, but if it got infected, it could be.

The two of them were standing in the kitchen. Jazz used the countertop as a place to put his supplies. Prowl stood to the side, back pressed against the ledge, optics closed as Jazz applied the disinfectant. 

He didn’t flinch, which surprised Jazz. He craned his helm to look at his door wings. They were as stiff as always. Not even a twitch.

Jazz pulled the cloth away, making Prowl’s optics flutter open again. He doused it in disinfectant and pressed it to Prowl’s cheek. This time, Prowl’s optics remained open. 

For a moment too short, he stared at Jazz. Using his visor to his advantage, Jazz angled his helm to make it seem like he was concentrated on the wound. In actuality, he was focused on Prowl’s optics. 

Prowl tried to make it look like he was looking out the window. Really, he was watching Jazz out the corner of his vision.

But as Jazz went to put the cloth down, the facade broke.  
Prowl was forced to look at him. Jazz noticed this and turned his helm to survey him from below. Even with the visor, Prowl knew that Jazz was looking at him. 

It was the smaller mech who made the first motion. He leaned forward, the two now even closer. He offlined his visor, putting his trust in Prowl. 

Prowl was fully focused on Jazz. His optics were trained on Jazz’ visor. His optics widened as Jazz continued to inch closer. Doing what only felt natural, he placed a servo on the back of Jazz’ helm. 

Jazz sealed the tension by shoving his lip plates onto Prowl’s. He felt Prowl stiffen and then soften completely. He placed a servo on his forearm in an attempt to make him feel better. 

Jazz pulled away. However, Prowl found it to be too soon. He grasped Jazz’ chin, searching his face plates for any sign of distress. When he found none, he pressed another kiss to Jazz lips, this time he was much warier. 

The smaller mech tilted his helm to deepen the kiss, something Prowl wasn’t doing. Prowl’s grip tightened on Jazz’ helm when he slipped his glossa into his mouth. 

Prowl’s optics slid open ever so slightly. He saw Jazz’ black helmet and his white servo wrapped around it. 

A tinge of guilt filled his spark. ‘You could at least wait until he’s mentally stable.’ Smokescreen had said. This is wrong, Prowl told himself. He’s not okay. You’re taking advantage of him.

Prowl jerked his helm away, wincing at the sudden movement. Jazz was stuck in a daze as he watched Prowl backpedal into the wall. 

“I…” he vented. “I’m sorry, Jazz.”

“You’re what?” Jazz reached a servo out. 

Prowl straightened his back. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.” He advanced towards the door. “Your job was to disinfect my wound. I apologize for being an inconvenience to you.”

Jazz shook his helm and continued to advance towards him. “Prowl, you weren’t an ‘inconvenience’.”

“I took advantage of you!” Prowl persisted. 

“You didn’t-what?” 

Jazz had never seen Prowl so distressed. This whole trope of discovering new things seemed to be constant with Prowl. 

These cycles, new things always set Jazz off. But when it was something to do with Prowl, he was intrigued. For the first time in forever, he was curious without the lingering fear in the back of his processor.

“Prowl, don’t blame yourself.” Jazz said gently. 

“What?” Prowl gripped the doorway, itching to leave this terrible situation.

“Don’t leave.” he rushed to Prowl and clutched his forearm, willing him to stay and listen. “There’s nothing to be upset about, it was just a kiss.”

For once, Jazz was being the reasonable one. When he looked into his optics he saw the same image that Prowl likely saw in him. 

“Just a...what?”

Jazz smiled softly. “I’m not ashamed of myself,” he said, smile fading into a more serious look. “Were you raised in an environment that taught you to be?”

Prowl chuckled. “That’s a short question with a very long answer.”

Jazz decided he’d drop it and ask later. “May I continue to care for your wound?”

“Of course.”

Jazz led him back to the counter by his forearm. Despite his kind touch, Prowl was not making optic contact.

He grabbed the rag once more and splashed more disinfectant on it. Jazz stood even closer than before. He put the tips of his digits under Prowl’s chin, tilting his helm upward to get a better angle at the wound. 

Seeing no other choice, Prowl shuttered his optics. He didn’t want to risk looking at Jazz. If he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to look away. 

Jazz removed the cloth and gave the wound a once over. “I think it’d be best if I left the cover off, let it dry out.”

Prowl nodded and softly thanked Jazz. As he began cleaning up, Prowl moved to a cabinet and pulled out two cubes of mid grade. He handed one to Jazz, kept the other to himself, and retreated back into his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I hate editing my writing. Like LOATHE it to no degree.


	9. Recharge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, this is just setting up for the next chapter. Also, the next chapter will probably be the end. If not that one, then the next.

“We’re not together, Smokescreen.” Prowl growled, engine revving in irritation. “It was an accident, a mistake.”

“You don’t kiss a mech on accident, Prowl.” Smokescreen quipped. “How did it happen anyways?”

“He was cleaning my wound.” Prowl huffed a sigh and rested his shoulder against the wall. “We both leaned in a bit too close.”

Smokescreen stroked the bottom of his chin and whispered to himself. “This is like the plot to a nurse-patient-porno.”

Unfortunately, Prowl heard him. “Smokescreen!”

“Kidding! Kidding!” He threw his servos up to defend himself. 

Prowl exhaled heavily and turned towards the larger mech. “What do you recommend?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Smokescreen placed his servos to his hips and hummed in thought. “Don’t make it awkward.”

“I’m not.” Prowl griped. 

“Yes, you are.” Smokescreen stepped forward and slapped a servo to Prowl’s shoulder. “Even from afar, I can tell you’re making things awkward. You always have.”

Prowl rolled his optics, knowing in his spark that it was true. “Is that all?”

“Be more open.”

“More open?” Prowl raised an optic ridge. “I live with him. How much more open can I be?”

* * *

Jazz pressed his helm to the door. He could hear two voices on the other side, one was deep and calm, the other was animated and sarcastic. The voices seemed to be talking about something important, but he Jazz wasn’t sure what.

“This is like the plot to a nurse-patient-porno.” the sarcastic one murmured. 

What?

Prowl responded with a loud shout. “Smokescreen!”

Jazz flinched at the tone of voice but kept listening. 

“Kidding! Kidding!” Smokescreen cried. 

For the second time since he had been listening, he heard a thump against the wall. “What do you recommend?” Prowl said after a long pause.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Jazz could only imagine Prowl’s exasperated expression. 

There was a pause, an anticipated silence. “Don’t make it awkward.”

“I’m not.” he heard Prowl grumble.

There were a few pede steps forward. “Yes, you are.” Smokescreen insisted. “Even from afar, I can tell you’re making things awkward. You always have.”

Jazz had to agree with Smokescreen on that one. Prowl could be a bit awkward...and dense, both of which are traits Smokescreen had commented on. 

“Is that all?”

“Be more open.”

“More open?” Prowl scoffed. “I live with him. How much more open can I be?”

Jazz’ helm rose from the door. Prowl was talking about him. Prowl was talking about him. Prowl was talking about him. Prowl was talking about him. The mantra kept replaying in his helm, he couldn’t stop it. 

His visor dimmed dramatically. There was a jiggling of the door knob. Prowl was trying to enter. Thinking fast, Jazz ran to the couch and dimmed his visor even further to the point of it almost being black. He laid down on the couch and pretended to be in recharge. 

Prowl stood in the doorway for a moment, saying a few last words to Smokescreen. He put his servo up in a waving motion and closed the door. He gave a once over to his quarters, finally noticing Jazz. 

A small smile crept through his lip plates. He walked to his berthroom and returned with a blanket. Deciding he didn’t want to wake Jazz, he draped the blanket over his frame and left.

Jazz onlined his visor once he heard the sound of a door shutting. He had to admit, it was considerate of Prowl to give him a blanket. But that still didn’t make him feel better about the conversation. 

Was he being a burden on Prowl? He must be, otherwise, he wouldn’t go to Smokescreen for guidance. 

He wanted so desperately to tell him that he appreciated everything he was doing. Perhaps then, Prowl wouldn’t mind him as much. 

Using the leftover adrenaline from when he was eavesdropping, Jazz hopped up off the couch. Finding that the room was cold, he wrapped the blanket around himself and marched to Prowl’s berthroom door. 

He stopped in front of it, taking in a deep vent. He had to tell Prowl about how appreciative he was. He had to. Holding in that vent, he rapped on the door. The door swung open with a long creak. 

Jazz froze, realizing that Prowl’s door was wide open. He felt exposed. His servos clamped down on the blanket, as if it would protect him. 

But Prowl was asleep. He wasn’t sitting or standing, looking at Jazz like he originally expected. Instead, he was lying face down on his berth. 

Rough day? Jazz couldn’t help but think. Prowl, after all, was an officer. Surely, he had a rough day now and then. It must be even harder with his wounds still healing. 

He approached further, taking note of the slight flutters in his doorwings. Prowl didn’t even take off his armor. 

That can’t be comfortable, Jazz noted silently. He sat on the edge of the berth, content on watching Prowl recharge. 

He tugged at the corner of the blanket, willing it to cover more of Prowl’s frame. Prowl groaned at the movement and shifted his frame. His arm swooped over Jazz’ lap and wrapped around his waist. 

Jazz was stunned. He could only stare at the black and white arm with a bright visor. He was pinned to the berth. If he moved, he’d surely wake Prowl. 

The arm tugged at Jazz’ torso, forcing him to lay down beside Prowl. He hesitantly agreed. There was really nothing he could do. 

Prowl huffed a heavy vent and settled down. Jazz drew the blanket tighter around his frame and tried to get comfortable. It appeared that he’d be here for awhile.

Jazz settled down where he lay, on his side, facing Prowl. There was a silence that lingered. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was actually enjoyable.

That is, until Prowl onlined. 

His optics flickered to life, a whole new light source filling the dark room. Jazz was paralyzed. He was helpless to do nothing but watch as Prowl’s face plates contorted with realization. 

He sprung up into a sitting position, arm ripped away from Jazz’ side. His optics were now wide and bright, staring down the smaller black and white next to him. 

“Jazz!” he shouted. 

“Uh Prowl, I was…” Jazz trialed off, gazing around the room for an excuse.

Prowl’s optics darted to the side. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was rather embarrassing to find the mech you awkwardly kissed laying next to you.

“Were you having trouble recharging?”

Seizing the opportunity Jazz said, “I guess so,”

Prowl relaxed slightly, his door wings dipped down low. Jazz couldn’t tell if it was from fatigue or if he was really starting to relax around Jazz. 

“If it helps, you may recharge with me. I don’t mind,” he said quietly. 

Jazz suddenly perked up at the offer and immediately agreed. Prowl laid down beside Jazz flat on his back. Jazz couldn’t help but gaze at him from under his visor. Certainly, laying on his back with such big wings had to hurt.

Jazz dimmed his visor and watched as Prowl did the same to his optics. He laid there for several minutes and discreetly watched Prowl, motionless.

* * *

“Tell him.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Smokescreen took several steps forward and waved his arms.

“You said it yourself,” Prowl snarled. “I should wait until he’s actually mentally stable.” Now more quietly he said, “Besides, it would never work.”

“Yes it would!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “He trusts you Prowl, it might do him some good!”

“He doesn’t trust me, Smokescreen. He trusts you.” Prowl insisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I have an art account on Tumblr, @minimyte. I've never promoted it (except for on my profile), but I've been doing some fan art on there and typing up some headcanons. I just thought that it might be cool to give it a shout out. And don't be shy, you guys can send me asks, messages, what ever. I love to talk to people. Thanks!


	10. Quick Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've run into a problem...

So, I've explained it on Tumblr and I'm gonna explain it again. My computer is broken. Like really broken. And of course, that makes it all the more harder to write and update. 

So I'm typing this on my phone and if it posts well, I will write the last chapter and post it.

Thanks for understanding!

(Theres only one more chapter btw)


	11. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter

Prowl stood in front of the door. 

This whole scenario seemed so tedious. He was a soldier, a battle hardened warrior, not some poet. Yet, here he was, standing in front of Jazz’ door with a data pad in servo. 

He knew that Jazz was with Smokescreen and that they’d be back soon. Perhaps if he didn't spend a e two joors standing in front of this door, this situation would be less stressful.

They’d be back any minute. If he didn’t act now, he could miss his chance. 

Prowl took a step forward and gripped the data pad tighter. But as he was about to lower it to the ground, his wings picked up on something. The sensory panels stood on end as he heard the door close from behind him. 

“Oh, Prowl,” Jazz said. 

Prowl was paralyzed. He knew that Jazz was right behind him. His wings tingled as they picked up on every step he took. 

“I didn’t know you were here.” He was right behind him now. “What’s this?” he asked. 

Prowl finally regained control of his frame. He stiffened himself and turned his helm towards Jazz. 

Jazz saw Prowl’s expression. “Is something wrong?”

“I…” Prowl vented. 

He took another deep inhale and turned his whole frame towards Jazz. His servos were trembling, he knew that much, the rest of his frame he couldn’t quite feel. His processor was unable to take in any information. He saw Jazz, knew he was doing something, but he wasn’t sure what. 

“Prowl?”

Within a second, Prowl threw the data pad across the room and grasped Jazz servos in his own. “Jazz,” he cried. “I adore you.”

“Wh-what?” 

“I adore you.” he repeated breathlessly. “I adore everything you are. I adore everything you do.”

By now, Prowl’s trembling had grown to an all time high. His wings were splayed out from his frame, displaying himself against his will. 

“I don’t understand.” Jazz said weakly. 

“You invigorate me.” Prowl stated. “I’ve never felt this way before. I desire you and everything you are.”

“P-prowl?”

Prowl took ahold of Jazz’ chin, tilting it upwards. “Be mine.”

Jazz’ visor dimmed, his lips pressed into a firm line.

Within an instant, Jazz sprung onto Prowl’s frame, wrapping his legs around his torso. Prowl was silent, unexpecting this reaction. 

Jazz smashed his lips onto Prowl’s and kissed him with sloppy desperate passion. Prowl stumbled towards the wall and pressed Jazz against it. He broke their heated kiss and started to pay more attention to Jazz’ neck cables. Jazz moaned as Prowl nipped at a particularly sensitive wire. 

Prowl pulled away and looked to Jazz, seeing his fevered visor. “Jazz,” he began. “I want to do this with you, but are you sure you want to…?”

“Please.” Jazz begged. “Take me. Any way you want, just take me.”

To say Prowl was stunned would be an understatement. He’d never seen anyone so ready to interface with him. Sure, he’d been flirted with before, but it was always by someone he had no interest in. 

He dismissed the thoughts and dipped his helm back to Jazz’s neck. He nipped at the cables and raked his glossa along Jazz’ shoulders. Jazz could only tighten his grip and pant in ecstasy as Prowl revved him up even more. 

Prowl picked Jazz up by the aft and carried him to his room. Ever so gently, he laid the mech on the berth and hovered over him. Jazz took this opportunity to survey his frame and run his servos along it. As he was doing so, Prowl felt him unclasp a few pieces of armor. He did the same and allowed his servos to run freely around the bare protoform. 

Jazz’ digits roamed to Prowls pelvis region. He traced the rims of his crotch and delved into seams and fondled wires. Prowl growled in approval and grinded their hips together. He felt a slim digit ghost over his warm cod piece. Prowl read Jazz’ processor and manually unclasped the metal casing. 

He gasped at the sight of the erect rod and shivered in anticipation. “Prowl…” he groaned.

“Open for me.” he whispered in response. 

Jazz did as he was told and wrapped his pedes around Prowl’s waist, already anticipating what was coming next. Prowl put his servo on the base of his rod to help guide himself. He slid his hips forward and buried the tip into Jazz’ valve. 

Prowl stopped his administrations, making Jazz cry, “Prowl, please!”

Prowl smirked and began teething on Jazz’ neck all the while thrusting his hips forward. Jazz cried out and arched his back into Prowl’s chassis. The larger mech flattened his frame against Jazz and rolled his hips forward and back. A long vented moan was dragged out of Jazz’ lip plates. 

Jazz bit his knuckle and looked down, wanting to watch Prowl’s hips. However, as he was doing so, he noticed something odd. 

“P-prowl?” he said in the soberest tone he could muster. 

“Jazz, is everything alright?” Prowl asked, suddenly concerned for the mech underneath him.

He’s having second thoughts, he couldn’t help but think. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. 

“You have a knot?”

Prowl sat up almost immediately and looked between Jazz and his crotch. “I suppose I do.” he muttered. “I apologize. I can turn it off.” he opened up a panel on his forearm and began to type something into the screen. “I-it’s not a mod, I was created with it actually. Lots of Praxians are.”

I should’ve told him before.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Jazz assured. “I’ve always wondered what they feel like.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Prowl smiled and leaned down. Jazz laid back on the berth and waited for Prowl to begin again. He buried his face plates back into Jazz’ shoulder and bit down. He squeaked and wrapped himself back onto Prowl’s frame. 

Prowl gripped his denta and dragged himself back before thrusting into him again. Jazz shouted and dragged his digits along Prowl’s back as he rammed the knot into Jazz’ valve. 

Jazz could feel the lubricants building up, surely dripping onto the metal berth below them. Again and again, Prowl thrusted in and out of Jazz. The knot made Jazz yelp and gasp every time it exited. It made Prowl groan in his deep baritone voice. 

"Oh Prowl," Jazz gushed. "I'm getting close..."

Prowl slammed his servos on either side of his partners helm, almost startling Jazz. His movements became faster and rougher, rattling the berth underneath them. 

Jazz was the first to overload, mere seconds ahead of Prowl. He arched his back with a cry and dragged his servos across Prowl's torso, surely scraping off paint in the process. 

When Prowl overloaded, he groaned long and loud. His rod jerked and spewed its contents into Jazz. 

They both took long deep breaths as their frames cooled. Prowl sat back on his knees and pulled out of Jazz. His optics trailed to Jazz' legs still wrapped loosely at his torso. He gently rubbed his servo up and down his inner thigh. 

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. 

Jazz chuckled. "Better than alright." He lifted his helm up to look at Prowl. His visor dimmed when he saw the scratches decorating his frame, now oozing tiny droplets of energon. "Did I hurt you?"

Prowl followed his gaze. "It's nothing major, don't worry about it."

To ease his worries, Prowl leaned forward and pressed his servos to Jazz' shoulders. The two of them shared a few chaste kisses before breaking apart. Prowl laid on his side and Jazz shifted to do the same. He pulled Jazz closer and rested his chin on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his waist and felt Jazz place a servo over his own. 

"How was your day today?" Jazz asked. 

Prowl mentally noted Jazz tapping his digit on the back of his servo. "Lots of reports."

"Is that normal for you?"

"Very."

There was a short pause. 

"Is your job hard?" Jazz asked. 

"For some."

"What about for you?"

"No."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Am I keeping you up?"

"No."

"Really?"

"I like hearing your voice."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "This conversation is going nowhere."

"Is it supposed to go somewhere?"

Jazz stiffened. "I wanted to ask you something." he said. "Do you like me?"

"Of course." Prowl answered immediately. "I like having someone with me."

Jazz scooted closer to the mech resting behind him. "You sure? You always struck me as someone who enjoyed silence."

"You're not loud."

Jazz smiled fondly. "Just wait. I used to be a pretty loud mech until the 'Cons got me." 

'Are you kidding me?' Jazz thought to himself. 'Just a moment ago, you were screaming his name.'

"I won't mind." he said. 

"But you seem so reserved."

"I am." he stated. "But occasional loudness is okay. Welcomed even."

"You don't seem social either."

"No, I enjoy my solitude."

"Am I..." Jazz vented. "Okay?"

"Of course."

"Really?"

"Really."

"A-and what about what you said earlier?" His frame grew even more rigid as he curled in on himself. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course I did."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. I'm a literal mech. You know that."

"So...so you love me?" Jazz asked timidly. 

After a short pause, Prowl answered, his deep voice ringing through the dark room. "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just really wanted to get this done. It's been a thorn on my side, especially when my computer died. There's probably a lot of mistakes, point them out if you see them. 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. As always, comment and tell me how I did.


End file.
